


black matches your soul

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based of the meme prompt: Instead of being taken prisoner by Ramsey, Theon takes the black to escape responsibility for his crimes. Would love to see the tension or conflict between Jon and Theon in this situation. Gen or slash is fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	black matches your soul

The yard fell silent when they brought him in, until the whispers started of course. 

Theon had thought that his days of being a hostage had ended the moment Ned Stark’s head was removed from his broad northern shoulders. But the manners in which the men of the Night’s Watch regarded him as he was paraded through the frosted yard, was unsettlingly familiar. Some with cold unfeeling looks, others bore angry and heated stares, while the rest sniggered and hissed demeaning japes behind raised hands. 

And suddenly, Theon was the small boy of nine far from his salty home, the traitor’s little whelp, bargained away without the slightest care. He was greeted to his new _home_ by whispers of his father’s rebellious deeds, which echoed around him from every direction. Only now, it was not his father’s but his own despicable acts which met his ears, they had spread faster than wildfire. 

_Two little Stark boys…Burnt em t’crisp he did…Turncloak bastard…_

Despite himself, Theon managed to retain a small amount of pride when he realised that the Lord Commander had come to _greet_ him in person. He had even brought his steward with him.

Jon Snow didn’t spare Theon a single glance, keeping his gaze set dead ahead and his lips clenched tight. However, Snow’s entourage made up the threatening stares and venomous airs, even the fat lump at the bastard’s side managed a convincing look of distaste. 

As he considered the small group of thugs and thieves, Theon was almost overcome by the urge to laugh - even after all that had transpired, at least he could still find it in him to laugh - at Winterfell Snow had no one save his brother and consequently Theon himself, if he was even worth a mention. And now he stood before him, surrounded by his many followers and, judging from the whispers around them, there would probably be a few more.  

Theon himself had never been too popular, but he had made up for it by surrounding himself in his whores and kitchen maids, their company distracting him from the painful truth that he was just as much of an outsider as the bastard. And now,… well now he was truly alone. 

**~oOo~**

Snow didn’t even throw a single glance Theon’s way whenever they happened to be in the same room. It had been days since his arrival and still the whispers followed him wherever he went, but still, with the whole Night’s Watch muttering about him - the ‘Tentacled Turncloak’ - Snow continued to act as if Theon didn’t exist. 

And, if he was perfectly honest, Theon found that it was getting to him, just a little bit. 

He didn’t know why he did it, followed Lord Snow out of the dining hall one evening, but he did. And soon Theon found him alone just outside his chambers. 

“Evening, Snow.” he called, taking a small moment to relish in the way Snow still seized up at the sound of his voice. “Beautiful night,” he continued when the bastard gave no response, just stood with his fist clenched around the handle of his door. “bit chilly for my tastes though, too bad we can’t get a couple of girls in to warm us up like we used too… not that you did that anyway…” Theon sauntered over so that he was leaning against the wall against Snow, who’s dark eyes were fixed on his gripped hand. “How do you keep warm up here, Snow? Is it that fat one, I bet he does the job perf-”

His taunts were cut short by Snow’s surprisingly strong forearm pressing against his throat as he pushed Theon up against the wall.  

“Why are you here, Greyjoy?” the younger man spat, his usually calm face crumpled with rage. “Did you think that if you took the black everyone would forgive you, forget what you’ve done?”

Theon could only choke in response. He could feel the blood pumping around his ears.

“Think that you would get off lightly here, instead of having to face up to everything?” he loosened his grip slightly, so he didn’t kill him - as much as he clearly wanted too. “It’s true that once a man joins the Night’s Watch his past deeds are forgotten, but you know something else, Greyjoy?” Snow brought his face up so that it was an inch from Theon’s and he could smell the wine in his breath, his tight grip returning. “You’re not a man of the Watch just yet.” he hissed. 

Theon slumped to the ground once Snow had released him, massaging his neck and gasping in the cold air. “You seem to have developed a slight disregard for the rules, Lord Snow.” he choked out. “Where’s that Stark-like honour you held so fucking dearly?”

Snow regarded him like his was horse shite on the bottom of his boot. “I have no regard for rules and honour when it comes to you.”  

And for the first time Theon actually believed the bastard of Winterfell. In that moment a shiver of fear ran down the Tentacled Turncloak’s spine. Maybe he would have been safer at the Dreadfort after all?  

**~oOo~**

The next morning Jon considered his training group with a grim satisfaction. He had his usual bunch, Sam, Grenn, Pyp and a few others, but today he had a new addition. For once Theon was managing to keep his traitorous mouth shut as he stood at the edge of the group and for once Jon felt a sense of power over the Ironborn when he refused to meet his gaze, nervously stepping from one foot to the other. 

“Any objections to starting off with some one-on-one?” Pyp shook his head, Grenn just shrugged and Sam nodded vigorously the same as he always did. “Great, pair up… Turncloak, with me!” Jon commanded, a sly smile crept on to his face when Greyjoy’s shoulders slumped. 

They all spread out around the yard, unsheathing their practice swords, Greyjoy took his time making his way over. Sam reached Jon before the Turncloak did, his short chubby legs carrying him as fast as they could. 

“Jon, you can’t do this!” he hissed, in the panicked tone he so often had. “I know what he did, we all do, but it’s forgotten now - “

“Could you forget that, Sam? If it was your sisters and brother that were killed, your home that was burned, could you forgive the man that did that? Could you live amongst him and forget all that he took from you, because I can’t, Sam. _I can’t.”_

Sam sighed and placed a comforting hand on Jon’s arm. “I know, just … just try not to kill him, alright.” 

As Sam waddled away, Jon turned back to Theon. Even back at Winterfell, the ward had looked awkward with a sword in his hand, always preferring the bow. Nothing had changed, only that the sight of the traitorous whelp facing him with a sword brought back memories of his old home, of Robb who had been betrayed by his closest friend - Jon wondered how his brother felt now, what he would do if he were in Jon’s position? 

Naturally thinking of Winterfell, his mind saw Bran climbing the tall towers and Rickon running about the yard after Robb and himself. And soon there was a fresh wave of anger sweeping through him towards the young man stood before him. 

 Theon was unprepared for Jon’s sudden assault. Sam’s words forgotten, replaced by the single thought of wanting to hurt Greyjoy, batter him into the frozen ground as if that would bring Bran and Rickon back. 

He let his body take over, driven completely on impulse to hurt, enact as much pain as was physically possible. Jon didn’t notice that Greyjoy was on the ground, that his sword had been knocked from his hand, he didn’t care either. With every strike, Jon thought of the names of those Theon had hurt, killed and it acted as a form of revenge for them. 

No one stopped him, even when his thoughts turned to strangled cries. “Robb!… Bran!… Rickon!… Luwin!… Ser Rodrick!…. Mikken!… Beth!” 

At one point, he even yelled Lady Stark, because they were her children he murdered. 

Vaguely, he heard a powerful voice shouting his name, but it took Grenn, Pyp and Sam to pull Jon away to the Lord Commander.     

**~oOo~**

“What happened, Snow?” Mormont asked from across his desk, passing Jon a tankard. 

Jon shook his head, now that he had time to settle, for his thoughts to compose, everything was a blur almost as if he had dreamt the whole thing. “I don’t know… he was just stood there waiting and all I could see was them…all of them, and I just… lost it, I don‘t know, I just….” 

Mormont took a sip of wine, considering Jon over the rim of the tankard.  “All I know is that it wasn’t you out there in that courtyard. What ever it was, that was not the Snow I know.”

Jon dropped his head. “I know.” he muttered. 

“We all know what he has done, but a man’s crimes are forgotten when he takes the black and Greyjoy is no different. Forget who he is, what he’s done, trust me you’re going to have to spend the rest of your life - however long it may be- with this lad, you’ll have an easier time of it if you can come to some sort of closure.” 

Mormont stood from behind his desk and walked around to clamp a large hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I’m not telling you to forgive him, but you’ve got your revenge now, thoroughly as well I’d say… the boy’s in quite a state.” At that, Jon found himself flinching. “So lets try to move on, he’s a man of the Watch now, just as much as you. Try to remember that, if nothing else.”  

~ **oOo~**

It was two weeks before Jon saw Theon’s face in the hall, it was still scared and bruised, his left arm was wrapped up in a sling and he winced whenever he moved the other. Balon’s only living son and heir sat on his own on a small table in the darkest corner of the room. 

Some of the men still spat at him as he passed, and most continued to call him the ‘Tentacled Turncloak‘, just like they named Jon ‘Lord Snow’. He was an outcast now more then ever. 

It was days until Jon made the decision to continue on passed his friends and join Theon in his dark hideaway. Greyjoy only stared apprehensively at him when Jon took the seat opposite him. Jon said nothing, Theon stayed silent as did the rest of the hall as they observed this, surely impossible sight. 

After a week of eating together, Theon spoke. “Evening, Snow.” It was only two word, the same as the ones he had said to Jon the first night they spoke at the Wall, and they were said in the quietest possible tone, but it was a start. 

Jon nodded. “Greyjoy.” 

Soon the bruises faded and the scars began to clear slightly but the arm remained slung up and he still winced. Every evening, Jon would subtly examine Theon, and each time he felt just that little bit more guilty for the thing he could barely recall. 

Jon wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, he had never truly hated someone - not even Lady Stark. Even though he could never forgive Theon, he could try to forgive himself. 

“I’m sorry.” he found himself saying one evening. Theon looked up and gave him a confused look. “For _that_ ,” Jon clarified, gesturing to the whole of Greyjoy’s body. 

“Really?” Theon looked taken aback and Jon found himself thinking if this was the first time he had shocked the had-been-ward. 

“Really.” said Jon, returning to his food, trying to ignore the fixed gaze of Theon. 

At that moment, another bout of whispers drifted over to the pair. At the mention of ‘Tentacled Turncloak’ Jon noticed that Theon flinched as if been scalded, even though he hadn’t moved. It was a few minutes later when they heard it again, and again Theon seized up briefly. 

It wasn’t his arm that had been bothering him, Jon realised. 

The following evening, Jon leant across the table after seeing Greyjoy flinch for the second time that night. “Don’t listen to them, don’t let them get to you.”

“Oh, and you would know all about this sort of thing wouldn’t you, with all your little followers.” Theon said to his food, bitterly. 

Jon breathed deeply and pressed on. “Actually, yes I would. You know how they call me Lord Snow - “

“Ye, out of respect. Hardly the same thing now is it.” Theon snorted. 

“Well, it didn’t start off that way.” 

Theon lifted his gaze to Jon, “What you mean?” he asked, his interest piqued. 

Jon told him about his first few weeks at the Wall, how he bested everyone and in doing so turned them all against him. He ended up being an outcast just as much as Theon was. 

“I learnt, learnt how to survive here. Respect them and they’ll respect you, soon everything that has passed before is forgotten. Now I have a group of friends who would die for me and I for them.” Theon glanced over at Jon’s new brothers and smiled a small smile. “A smart man once said to me: wear what you are like a badge of honour and no one can use it to hurt you.” Theon nodded slowly, considering Jon’s words for the rest of their silent meal. 

They accompanied one another to the chambers, before Jon could enter his Theon blurted out, the question that had been bothering him for some time. “Why are you doing this? Sitting with me, helping me? Why, when you were beating seven barrels of shit outta me a few weeks ago?” 

Jon shrugged. “Seems like the right thing to do. A man’s crimes are forgotten once they join the Watch, you take your vows in a few days, I figured I’d get a head start on the forgetting part.”

**~oOo~**

Theon took his vows by the Weirwood tree, just as Jon and Sam had done. Jon came with him, standing silent as he said the words. 

That evening Theon sat with Jon and his fellow brothers. At first they had shot him cold glances and ignored him the best they could. Only Jon and Sam acknowledged him and one by one the others soon followed, Theon even came to manage a small smile when referred to as Turncloak. 

A fight broke out late one night and the entire Watch gathered around to cheer them on. All except Jon and Theon, who remained sat at the long table. “You not going to watch?” Jon asked, slightly surprised. 

“Not in the mood.” Theon replied, before burying his face in his tankard. The cheers were loud in the small hall, so loud that Jon almost didn’t hear the Turncloak’s next words. “I didn’t kill your brothers, you know.” 

Jon’s hand froze in place as he lifted his own tankard to his mouth. “What?” he asked, wondering if his ears had tricked him. 

“Bran and Rickon… I didn’t kill them.”

“Then…then who did?”

“No one!” Theon cried, “Seven Hells, Snow, I always thought that you just looked a bit slow!” The corner of Jon’s mouth twitched at the sight of the old Theon showing through, as much as he irked Jon, it would be kind of nice to have the old Theon back. “They are alive! At least I hope they still are…”

Jon’s head sank into his hands. “But, the bodies you…you strung them up?”

“No, no, they weren’t Bran and Rickon they were two farmer’s boys.” Theon explained, waving his hand as if it were a minor detail. 

“You _killed_ two farmers boys and passed them off as my brothers!” said Jon, in a shocked tone. 

Theon raised his hands in defence. “I had to do something! It’s better then killing your brothers isn’t it?”

Jon nearly laughed. Clearly he would never understand the Ironborn’s logic. “Two little boys still died, Greyjoy.” he pointed out, Theon shrugged and slumped down on the table, looking as if he had just had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. “But thank you for telling me, Turncloak.” Jon said, rising from the bench. Theon smiled slightly and nodded in acknowledgment. 

**~oOo~**

There is only a few months between Jon learning that two of his brothers may not be dead, and the arrival of the raven which tells him that another is. 

Theon hears whispers of what is being known as the Red Wedding and his whole body turns cold, but his mind is in constant denial, insisting that it cannot be true. 

He searches for Jon everywhere. The training yard, the stables, the hall, the smith, looking for the one person who could put these rumours to rest, the one person who could say that they weren’t true. That Robb Stark was not dead. 

Jon’s in his chambers when Theon finds him, and mentally kicks himself for not thinking to look here sooner. Lord Snow is sat on the edge of his bed, fingers clutched tightly around a roll of paper, silent tears occasionally splashing onto the floor. And Theon feels the question on the tip of his tongue slip away as Snow’s tears already answered it. 

The world disappears from under Theon’s feet and he finds himself sat next to Snow with his head in his hands. No tears come to his eyes, but they will come a few hours as he is sticking arrows into a target, when the emptiness that he feels in his chest turns to realisation of just what has happened. What he has lost. 

No one disturbs them and soon Snow runs out of tears. “Gods would you look at me, crying like a maid in front of Theon Greyjoy.” he mutters, running his hands over his face. “So you’ve heard?” 

“The whole Watch has heard. So how…how did it….how did he…” he couldn’t even say it, but Jon still passed the crumpled letter to him. 

Certain words jumped out at Theon as he read. _Betrayed. Slaughtered. Pierced by arrows._ They may as well have been _his_ arrows Theon thought as the paper slid from between his fingers and floated to the ground.  

“It’s not your fault.” said Jon, hesitantly placing his hand atop of Theon knee. “It was Bolton, he turned on him, you being there wouldn’t have stopped that.” Jon’s voice broke at the end and his grip on Theon tightened.   

“You know,” Theon croaked, “It might be hard to believe, especially after everything I’ve done, but I loved him too. He was like my brother, you all were.”

“And now there is only you and I left, at the Wall of all places, what were the chances of that I wonder?” Jon tried to joke but his quiet sniff at the end only reminded them of the circumstances. 

“It’s not just us remember.” Theon said, quietly. “Bran and Rickon are out there somewhere, I’m sure of it. You could find them.” 

“Just me? I don’t know, I may need some help, Greyjoy.” he turned his head and looked at Theon for the first time since he entered the room. 

Theon just sat there for a moment, the mixture of emotions swirling inside him were driving him mad. They must be, because there was no way in all the Seven Hells that Jon Snow had just asked for his help. “What? Me, as in you and me… together, are you serious, Snow?”

Jon nodded and held out his hand. “For Robb.” 

The Turncloak paused before taking the bastards hand. “For Robb.” he agreed. 


End file.
